


Triangle

by DHW



Category: Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Book: Enigma Tales (Star Trek), M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: They were sat in the garden drinking tea, the city stretching out below them, and the soft, rolling dunes of the desert shimmering in the distance.Short stories set a few months after the end of Una McCormack'sEngima Tales.
Relationships: Elim Garak/Kelas Parmak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Triangle

## Tea For Two

  


They were sat in the garden drinking tea, the city stretching out below them, and the soft, rolling dunes of the desert shimmering in the distance. Fragrant steam curled gently from the pot upon the table. From their cups, too. It mingled with the scent of the dust that swept in from the east, and the flowers that bloomed by the garden wall. 

“I have no idea how you manage to be so spectacularly wrong-headed on such a regular basis,” said Julian. “Of course he refuses to acknowledge the question of his lineage in relation to his right to the throne. That is the entire point. It is the obvious and logical conclusion to any satirical plot arc regarding the divine right of kings.”

“Ah, yes,” Garak replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The divine right of kings. The idea that all acts of governance, no matter how tyrannical in nature, may only be judged by a conveniently absent supreme being. A distressingly strange system of rule, and one which, I am thankful to say, we Cardassians have never fallen prey to. All Cardassians are equal in the eyes of the State, with equal opportunities to rise to the head of it.” 

“Until some inevitably become more equal than others.” 

There was the hint of a smile on Julian’s face. At the corners of his mouth. Around his eyes. In the way he watched Garak from across the table, steam curling from the teapot between them. 

The Castellan’s residence stood behind them, rising up from the rock to touch the clear blue sky. Its sandstone walls reflected the heat of the sun, shining like gold, the newly restored facade punctuated here and there with great stained-glass windows that cast colourful, geometric shadows upon the floor. In the garden, the roses were in bloom. Sweet and fragrant, ruffled petals dancing the breeze. 

“If I had known we would be discussing Orwell this afternoon, Doctor, I’d have prepared.”

“Then it’s lucky for you that we’re discussing an entirely different body of work.”

“Hmm,” Garak waved an idle hand over the sugar cubes, scattering a trio of curious-looking bees that had begun to circle the bowl. 

Smaller than their Earth equivalents, red and gold stripes glinting in the sun, they buzzed away towards the flowerbeds. Julian watched them flit from flower to flower. Slip between the rocks and sandstone sculptures. The cracks in the garden walls. Three fuzzy little pompoms coasting easily on the breeze, humming as they went. 

“You didn’t like the book,” Julian said as the bees bobbed merrily over the wall and out into the city below, attention returning to his companion. 

“I enjoyed certain aspects of it,” Garak replied, his eyes alight with challenge. “The Patrician, in particular, held a number of admirable qualities, I admit. However, I found the book’s unrelenting cynicism regarding the human condition somewhat off-putting.”

“Cynicism?” Julian reached for his tea. “I’m beginning to believe we read completely different books.”

Garak politely ignored the rattle of the cup against its saucer. The way the steaming liquid splashed over the rim. The doctor’s resigned sigh as it dripped onto his pyjamas, leaving dark splotches peppered across the blue cotton. 

“And I am beginning to believe that you simply do not pay close enough attention to the literature you consume,” Garak said smartly, adjusting the sleeves of his tunic. 

“That is plainly untrue,” Julian said, taking a sip from his cup. “You just enjoy being contrary for the sake of it. Any point I make, you counter, no matter how absurd.” 

“What is absurd, Doctor, is your continuing insistence that you have the right of each and every argument. If your ego is so fragile that you ca—”

“My ego is not fragile.”

“No?” Garak’s eyes flashed with something that might have been delight. Or irritation. It was difficult to determine. “How odd. All the evidence currently points to the contrary.”

Julian rolled his eyes. He took another sip from his cup, peering at Garak over the rim. 

“Sometimes, I wonder what on earth possessed me to stay here,” he grumbled in mock irritation, biting back the beginnings of a smile.

“What on Cardassia, you mean.”

The almost-smile widened.

“All you ever do is insult me.”

“That is a gross over exaggeration. I do not always insult you, specifically,” Garak said with a sniff. “I also insult your choices. Literature, music, clothing, beverages...” He cast a dark look in the direction of the teapot. “Why you prefer tea to kanar, I will never understand.”

It was hot. Hotter than Julian had ever experienced; hotter than any spring Garak could recall. It hadn’t rained in weeks. The grass that grew in tufts beside the rocky paths of the Castellan’s garden had become dry and brittle, blades whispering in the breeze. 

“Tea is the inherently superior drink," Julian said.

The doctor’s teacup returned to the table with a clatter, contents sloshing over the side. An embarrassed flush suffused Julian’s cheeks. 

Tea dripped from the over-full saucer and onto the table, forming a puddle upon the glass. 

And was dutifully ignored. 

“Go on then, Doctor. Enlighten me,” said Garak after a moment, eyes fixed firmly upon his own cup as he swirled the contents. “What makes it superior?”

“It clears the mind rather than clouds it, for a start,” Julian replied with forced lightness, placing his hands in his lap to disguise their tremor. “And doesn’t have a strange, burnt aftertaste to it, either.”

“No. It is instead reminiscent of stagnant ditchwater.”

“And yet you continue to share a pot with me. I think that says more about your tastes than it does about mine.” Julian gave Garak a sly sort of grin. “And casts your fondness for the Lakatian Marshes in an entirely new and somewhat disturbing light.”

Garak took a long draught from his cup. He grimaced, then proceeded to tip the rest of his tea into the flowerbed beside them. 

“I fear we are going to have to agree to disagree,” he said, setting the cup back down upon its saucer, the gold of the Castellan’s seal upon the side glittering in the sunlight. 

“It would be the first thing we did agree on,” Julian replied amiably. 

The doctor took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as he leant back in his chair. His face, still drawn at the edges and a touch too thin, glistened faintly with sweat. He was smiling. 

“I’ve missed this,” he said softly.

The world seemed to pause for a second. Two at the most.

Then, the hands of the clock began to turn again. The breeze whispered over the garden walls. Distant bees hummed. Birds chirped. And the sun shone down upon them, casting long shadows across the toasted grass. 

Garak sat and thought, head tilting to one side. In the distance, there was the faint sound of chimes. The familiar hail of yet another news bulletin. 

“I’ve missed you,” Garak said. 

Another pause. This one followed by the opening of a pair of soft brown eyes. 

“You look surprised, Doctor,” Garak continued. 

Julian frowned. “I… Well, I am, I suppose.”

“Surprised that I missed you?”

“More surprised that you admit it.”

Dust motes swirled in the air, dancing in the steam that curled from the teapot. They settled upon the table, upon the pair sat at it, leaving each and every surface speckled with grains of orange sand. Floated on the river of spilt tea that had begun to flow towards the table’s edge. 

“Perhaps I’ve changed?” Garak said, reaching forward to worry the teaspoons until they sat just-so upon the tea tray. 

“That would be even more surprising,” Julian replied with a teasing grin. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Ah, but that begs the question of whether or not you can always believe what you see. I’d have thought personal experience would have taught you otherwise on that particular front.”

Julian inclined his head in agreement. 

The conversation ebbed as the breeze picked up speed, bringing with it the scent of dry earth and distant smoke. Sweet relief from the heat of the afternoon sun, the wind was blissfully cool upon skin and scale alike. It plucked at Julian’s hair. Grasped at the hem of Garak’s tunic. Made the edges of the napkins flutter, shaking free the dust that had settled upon the startlingly white cotton, threatening to blow them out over the garden like tiny parachutes, and send them floating down into the city streets below. 

“It’s a beautiful day.”

“An almost perfect afternoon,” Garak agreed.

“Almost?”

There was the sound of footsteps. Faint at first, but growing louder and more familiar with each passing second. 

Garak blinked. A shadow of something that might have been guilt flickered across his face. 

“Terran tea would not have been my drink of choice,” he said before turning to greet the newcomer, smile in place one more. "Kelas! Please, join us. I hadn't expected you back so soon."

Julian watched as Dr Parmak strode into view. Tall, thin, with a shock of white hair clipped in a style shorter than Julian had ever seen a Cardassian sport before, he moved to stand beside Garak, placing a hand upon his shoulder. 

“Elim.” He turned to face Julian. “Dr Bashir.”

“Tea?” Garak asked, fishing another cup and saucer from the tray before busying himself with the sugar bowl, firmly avoiding eye contact. 

"Please.” 

Parmak took a seat. His smile was warm and perhaps a little bit weary. Tight around the edges. 

“How are you today, Dr Bashir?” he said, leaning forward, elbows resting heavily upon the table. 

Resting in the puddle of tea that dripped incriminatingly from Julian’s saucer. 

Parmak grimaced. He reached for a napkin and wiped the table clean. 

Erased the evidence.

"Fine,” said Julian after a moment. “I'm fine."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Garak and Julian are discussing is _Men At Arms_ by Terry Pratchett.


End file.
